


Three of a Kind Make a Pair

by twistedchick



Series: Gamblers' Choice [2]
Category: La Femme Nikita
Genre: Gen, OCs - Freeform, Surveillance, canon-level violence, counterterrorism, three-way
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-11-13
Updated: 2009-11-13
Packaged: 2017-10-02 14:44:27
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,534
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7530
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/twistedchick/pseuds/twistedchick
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Will love and armaments keep them together?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Three of a Kind Make a Pair

"Again! No, go left."

"Ouch!" Nikita rubbed her arm. "All right, Walter, how did you do that?"

"Here, I'll show you," Birkoff said. He repositioned his hands on Walter's arm and flipped him into the padded wall of the exercise room. "Notice where I put my thumb in relation to his? Okay, now you try it on me."

Nikita moved her hands into place. "You're not much of a challenge."

"You think so?" Birkoff shifted his feet slightly, and it was Nikita who landed on the mat. He reached down to help her up, and she tossed him over her head.

"C'mon, kids, I thought you wanted to learn something here," Walter growled.

Nikita blew him a kiss, which he caught with a grin. "Show me more of your secret moves," she said. "This is fun."

"Then get over here. You already know pressure points, right? Of course you do. You know everything, right?"

"Oh, enough of the bullshit, Walter. Out with the secrets."

Walter's eyebrows rose. "Secrets?" He spread his hands wide. "My life's an open book, sugar."

"Yeah, written in Sanscrit." She sauntered up to him, winked at him and flipped him. He landed on the mat, grabbing her ankle and tripping her. "Or maybe in water."

"Water? More like mud, in this place," Walter said. "Hey, let's try that tumbling routine we were working on yesterday," Birkoff suggested as Walter got up. "You can add some kicks to it, Nikita, and it might come in handy."

"Fine. I'll be the steady," Walter growled; he felt annoyed with himself at Nikita catching him unaware. Nikita started to run toward him, launched herself into a flip with a kick at his head that he countered, and landed by the wall. Just as she kicked, Birkoff launched himself at Walter from another direction, crossing behind Nikita in midair and punching. Walter deflected the punch, tipping Birkoff off balance; the younger man walked up the wall, did a backflip and came out of it in a fighter's crouch. Nikita ran toward him, and he launched her into a backflip aimed toward Walter, who caught her and turned her toward the padded wall; she kicked off that, grabbing Walter's shoulders, pulled up her legs and flipped over his head like a comet, long ponytail streaming behind her and her hands pulling Walter off balance so he crashed to the floor. He countered with a maneuver that brought her down as well, briefly, before Birkoff pulled her up again. She launched a long-legged circular kick at him.

The door opened and Michael walked in. He ducked. She missed him by an inch, completed the maneuver and stood, shaking out her hair, barely out of breath.

"Impressive." Michael was surprised to see her workout partners, but his face betrayed only a mild interest. "Nikita, I'd like to talk to you."

She turned her back on him. "Sorry, I'm busy."

"I thought you'd like to know that we're going after The Force within the next three days."

"Thank you. Now if you'll excuse me, I'm in the middle of a workout." She moved back into position and nodded to Walter to continue.

"Nikita --"

She turned to look at him. "Does Ops or Madeleine want to see me?" He shook his head. "Then, if you'll excuse me, I'd like to finish my workout now." She nodded again to Walter, and he threw a punch at her that she countered with a kick. When Birkoff came at her, she threw him over her back toward Michael and the door; he touched down just short of where Michael stood and launched a Bruce Lee kick that bypassed Nikita by a hair and connected with Walter's shoulder only until Walter turned away from its force. In turning, Walter put himself in Nikita's way, and had to recover by flipping her -- toward Michael, who still stood watching them, a narrow vertical line appearing between his eyebrows. He stepped out of the way, and she rebounded off the wall next to him without a glance at him, and launched herself back into the three-way battle.

"I'll be in my office," Michael said. "Birkoff, Operations wants you." He turned and left, closing the door behind him.

Birkoff shrugged. He shot a glance at Nikita and Walter, congratulating Nikita for her steady nerves and Walter for backing her up. He put his glasses back on, rubbed his hair with a towel, and went out.

Nikita pushed her bangs out of her eyes and tipped her head toward Walter: another round? He nodded sharply, following it with a stare: yes, but only a short one. You don't want to annoy Michael too much. Nikita shot him one of her tilted blue-eyed grins: don't be too sure about that.

They did another ten minutes of throws and countermoves, each of them falling and recovering and counterattacking in a continuous deadly ballet. As if on signal, both of them rose to their feet and bowed toward each other formally. Walter grinned.

"Thanks, Walter," Nikita said softly.

"Anytime, sugar." He grabbed a towel from the corner, rubbed his face and chest, and waved a hand toward the locker room. "You can have the hot water first."

"As if there wouldn't be enough," Nikita said. She headed for the locker room and a fast hot shower. No sense in annoying Michael further than she'd planned, by showing up sweaty. He'd probably find it arousing. She didn't care what he found arousing; she wanted to be comfortable, and getting out of the sweaty clothes came first. If that either pleased or displeased Michael, it was a side effect.

Within a very few minutes she walked into Michael's office, clad in clean jeans, a hooded sweatshirt and her trademark sunglasses.

"You wanted to see me?" He motioned for her to sit down. She chose a chair that leaned against the wall, a strategic advantage he didn't miss.

"Yes." Michael sat in the chair on the other side of the desk. He seemed to have trouble meeting her eyes; instead of the steady look she usually saw, his glance slid just off target toward her nose or her ear, as if he was uncomfortable.

"Well?"

"I wanted to apologize for any difficulties I've caused you in the past few weeks." His voice was calm, unhurried. "You had a difficult time with the Jurgen situation. I didn't realize how hard it was for you until recently."

"Oh, really." Nikita's gaze at him was unyielding. "I thought you'd figured that lame apology you made before I went on vacation was sufficient."

"I realized it wasn't." Michael looked away at the door, then back to her. Madeleine had just walked past and looked at him through the glass -- a look that was the equivalent of a direct order. Do it. "We have to be able to work together, and I didn't want to have any more misunderstandings between us."

"Is that what you want?" Nikita said. She leaned forward in the chair. "Then understand this: you will not use me as your Judas goat any more. I don't care what the situation is; the next time you put a bug on me without my knowledge I will come back and kill you."

"Really?"

She couldn't be serious, he thought. Or have I been missing something? He felt something shift in his mind, as he rapidly evaluated what he had seen of her work lately. Maybe she was maturing in the job, settling down; this assertiveness was certainly new.

"Yes, really. I've paid my dues here. I expect to be treated with the same respect you'd give to anyone else in Section -- as a colleague and not as a stoodge."

"I understand. I do have a great deal of respect for you, Nikita."

"Really? It's not obvious." She said it as fact, not insult, and he took it as such. "Are we going to be able to work together?"

"Of course." Her expression was cool, collected; a mirror of Madeleine's expression. "We are both professionals, now, aren't we?"

The phone rang. Michael listened a moment and hung up. "Operations wants us in the briefing room."

The briefing wasn't long, just a version of "go in there and get them," with some detail on how it would be done. The Force had set bombs at an EEC monetary conference that had been disarmed moments before they were to explode; the bombs contained chemicals that would have been deadly to a large part of the city. The group was planning another attempted strike, at a summit of world leaders within a week. Most of the members were related, and lived in one or another of a block of townhouses in an old section of the city. Michael had discovered their headquarters and workshop, in the connected basements of a row of houses, and Section One would strike before the group had a chance to set up its target.

"It's a simple job this time," Operations said. "I expect everyone to come back, with no problems. Michael, Nikita and Toulon are the team; Walter and Birkoff will provide support. Any questions?" Nobody had any. Toulon, the newcomer, sat next to Madeleine. He was stocky, with an intelligent, tense face.

"He's new -- came in just two years ago or so," Birkoff told Nikita in an undertone a little later. He had shown her photos of The Force's known members, and now she was looking over his shoulder at the onscreen maps and photos of the buildings. Michael was still talking to Madeleine and Operations. "Good with weapons, but be careful around him."

Surprised, Nikita looked at Birkoff instead of at the screen. "Anything I should know?" "He may be a bit unstable. Doesn't like working with women. Madeleine made him behave, but he doesn't respect her."

Nikita shivered. That's all she needed, a sociopath on her team. Or another sociopath, she thought, considering the way Michael had used her without mercy to achieve whatever objective Section had assigned to him, and had seldom if ever apologized for his actions.

"If he doesn't respect her, he's a fool," she muttered.

Birkoff nodded. He could see Michael's reflection in the computer screen, and raised his voice as he pointed out the probable path the attack would take. "The best entrance is from this alley; the next best is from the roof by way of the building next door. Headquarters is in the basement of this building, which connects to the next three buildings on this side of the street. Here are your exit points: there and there."

"What about the roof?" Nikita asked.

"Mined." Michael said, directly behind her. "Bombs laid in the roof garden would take out the top floor and anyone on that roof and the next one over. I watched them setting it up."

"Michael, what do you know about Toulon?" she asked, just to see what he would answer.

"He's new, he's good, he's on the team. That's all you have to know."

"How new?"

"He's been with us a year now; he's made the adjustment with few problems."

"Problems?"

"Not any more." That settled that, as far as Michael was willing to admit in public. In private, his opinion was far less optimistic. "Who decided he'd be on our team?" Nikita pursued.

"Madeleine. She's been working with him."

"I see."

"Is there a problem?" Michael raised an eyebrow.

"No. Just curiosity."

He nodded. "We're going in through the side alley, but probably coming out through the third building, into the service road." He pointed at the screen, and Birkoff magnified the maps. "Just to make sure. Thank you," he said to Birkoff, and turned away, drawing Nikita with him. "Nikita, you have the rest of the day off, since we'll be leaving late tonight."

"Isn't that a bit early? I thought we weren't going in for several days."

"The timetable's been moved up. We want to be sure to be there ahead of time so we don't have to chase them around the city." He paused in the corridor to allow one of the Housekeeping staff to pass. "Toulon will be under your orders as well as mine for this mission. His specialty is disarming the explosives."

This was a first; until recently she'd always been the junior member of the team. "Thank you," Nikita said, since a reply seemed to be expected. Michael seemed a bit more abstracted than usual; something about this mission did not please him at all. Well, she'd find out when she came back. "What time do you want me back?"

"Be here by ten; you'll sleep here tonight, since we're leaving very early."

"All right. Put a chocolate on my pillow." She slid her sunglasses onto her nose and left Michael standing in the hallway.

Michael's hands clenched involuntarily; he willed them to be loose, casual. He could not afford to appear worried. He had already talked with Madeleine about having Nikita in charge of Toulon, and Madeleine's will was absolute. Toulon would have to be able to work with anyone on the team, including their female operatives. That was the way things were. If he did not work out, he would be cancelled. Presumably, Toulon knew this also.

Nikita spent the afternoon wandering around the shopping district, looking at jackets and sunglasses and sipping coffee at a sidewalk cafe. She liked to walk alone in the city; it felt comfortable, as if she were putting on a treasured old coat. Her training in Section One had sharpened her senses; she knew the pickpocket was reaching for her wallet without even turning around. She grasped his wrist in a firm grip and brought him around in front of her to sit in the other cafe chair at her table.

It was a boy, about twelve years old, in a torn blue jacket and dark jeans. He was thin, and looked at her with big eyes. "I'm sorry, I thought you were someone else," he stammered. "That's interesting. Do you always steal your friends' wallets?" she inquired. "You look a little hungry. Would you like some food?" The waiter stopped at the table, and she ordered a cup of cocoa for her guest and a plate of sandwiches for both of them. "What's your name?"

"Renny. Listen, I'm sorry about the wallet, but I had to find a way to get your attention." He looked scared, and she let go of his arm. "I couldn't just walk up and say it."

He definitely had her attention now. "What is it? Look casual, just in case someone's watching us."

"That's it. A man's been following you, ever since you came out of the department store."

"I know. I've been watching him follow me." She smiled at the boy. "I really appreciate your concern. It's very kind of you."

Renny shivered. "You don't know him, but I do. He murdered my cousin four years ago. He cut her up bad." He gulped the cocoa. "He was supposed to be in prison for life."

She was growing concerned for this street kid, who evidently cared that a woman he didn't even know might be harmed. "Did you see him?"

The boy nodded. "I saw him leave her house. I didn't have to testify at the trial, my brother did." He shivered as he drank the cocoa. "He's dead now." It was obvious from his manner that he was sure his cousin's murderer had killed his brother, though he wouldn't say the words.

"Does the man following me know that you know about him?" she asked. He shook his head. "Good. Take the sandwiches; it's fine. Listen, my name's Nikita. If you need to contact me, go to that building." She pointed it out, over the top of the shops across the street, and showed him which windows were hers. "If I'm not there put a note under the door, and I'll find you. I might be away for a few days, but I'll be back. Come and see me and we can talk. Do you have some place to stay?"

Renny shrugged. "With my sister and her family. It's not too bad."

"That's good, since you're not a very good pickpocket. It's been good to talk with you, Renny, and I'm glad you decided to come by for a snack," she said, laying money on the table to cover the bill. "See you around."

"Sure thing." Renny grinned, tucked the sandwiches into the deep pockets inside his jacket, and left, whistling. Nikita finished her coffee, paused just long enough to leave a tip for the waiter, and left. She crossed the street and entered a tobacconist's shop, where she stood near the window as she sniffed urns of scented pipe tobacco. Within a minute, she saw Toulon moving down the street, following Renny. She slipped out of the shop and tailed him. As he turned to follow Renny down an alley, she called out to him.

"Pierre! Wait up! I've been trying to find you." She ran up and took his arm, as if they were old friends, and he let her do it, a slight frown on his face. "We have a lot to talk about."

"Do we? We haven't really been introduced," said Toulon. "I presume you know who I am."

"Yes, and you know who I am, and that we're going to be working together." She couldn't hear Renny's footsteps any more, turning into the street at the end of the alley, and she hoped he was going somewhere other than home first. "I thought we should get acquainted."

"I don't see what difference it makes." Toulon began to pull away. Nikita started to walk down the street and made it look like a dance step as she brought him with her. "You don't care about me."

"I do care that you're violating Section protocols about returning to the places you lived in before you came to Section. If you're recognized, it could cause problems for all of us."

"Do you think I care whether you have problems?"

"You should care. Your life depends on it."

He shook her off. "Listen. I do my job, whatever I'm told to do. You don't own the rest of my life. I'll see you later tonight, that's business. Right now, what I do is none of your concern."

"If you get into trouble out here, don't expect Section One to bail you out. Once you're recognized as an escaped murderer, your fate is out of my hands."

"I never expect mercy from other murderers." He spun on his heel and strode away from her, not in the direction Renny had taken.

She watched him leave, and felt deeply disturbed. Toulon's words had shaken her; she didn't realize how much she was coming to think of Section as her home and family in spite of her hatred of what she'd been forced to do there. Only a year ago she would have agreed with Toulon that what he did was his own business; but she had been innocent of the murder she'd been convicted for, and according to Birkoff and Renny, Toulon was guilty. She didn't doubt that Madeleine had found ways to make Toulon behave, or that his skills would meet Section standards. But she felt worried by his lack of discretion in returning to an area where people remembered his crime and recognized him. If he were captured as an escaped murderer, the entire existence of Section One could be called into question. And what would happen to them then?

Erring on the side of caution, Nikita went to the city library and looked up the newspaper articles on Toulon's trial and conviction. Renny and Birkoff had been right. She thought about this as she ate dinner at her apartment before going back to Section. Renny hadn't left her any notes. She hoped he was all right.

When she returned to Section that night, a little early, she found Michael reading something from the computer in his office. He looked up and she came in and shut the door behind herself.

"I'm concerned about something I saw today outside," she started, and told Michael what she had seen. She said nothing of Renny, but emphasized her worry that Toulon's indiscretion could cause problems for the rest of Section One.

Michael sat back in his chair. "You're right to mention this," he said. "Do you think he'll be a problem tonight?"

She shook her head. "Not during the mission. I think he should be moved to a different branch of Section One afterward, somewhere that is not so familiar."

"If he becomes a problem to Section One, he will be cancelled. He knows this already."

"That assumes that he cares about living," Nikita pointed out. "He may not care." Michael nodded. "If he causes any problems, deal with them."

Nikita nodded and left the office.

She caught a few hours of sleep in the small room she'd been assigned during her reconditioning, when she was just out of the infirmary and didn't have her apartment back yet. It was sparsely furnished and small, but it gave her more privacy and a little more comfort than the barracks room bunks that Section maintained for emergencies when everyone had to be called in. Her dreams were cloudy, with faces morphing into each other. Michael became Birkoff, Walter became Toulon, Birkoff became Walter, and young Renny became Madeleine -- all of them saying things she couldn't understand. She felt confused as she woke to a knock at the door.

"Yes?" she said.

"We leave in 20 minutes," Michael said through the door.

"All right."

In five minutes she was dressed in her black second skin, the skin that contained Kevlar armor in places, and making her way down to Walter's office to pick up her weapons and communications equipment. For once, Walter was equipping himself as well as the rest of them, taking an assault rifle and an Uzi for himself as he handed her an assault rifle, two spare clips, and the slightly lighter automatic pistol she preferred.

"Backup," he muttered toward her ear. "Ops' orders."

She looked at him with concern as she clipped on her headphone and the tiny camera that would allow Birkoff to see what she saw. When she ran to the embarkation point, she found Toulon and Michael there ahead of her, waiting in the van. Toulon nodded to her, and she nodded back. Walter and Birkoff joined them a moment later and they left. Sitting between Michael and Birkoff, she caught a catnap as Walter drove; she felt safer than she had much of the day. As the van slowed, Michael repeated their orders: take out anyone you see, disable the bombs and leave them for Containment, who would be sent as soon as they were sure the buildings were unoccupied.

They were dropped off in the only alley that interrupted the block of old buildings, and went in through the alley door. Nikita left the van last; as she went to the door she felt something small pressed into her hand and looked up at Walter's face. It was an alarm sensor, the size of a small coat button, the sort of small person-to-person comlink he specialized in.

"For emergencies," he said. Birkoff nodded, unsmiling: be careful. Nikita nodded soberly and tucked the sensor into her belt as she left.

Once inside the basement, they spread out to go through the long string of rooms. The hallway wound through the buildings, moving from one to another without a sense of direction. Michael shot the first man as he entered the third room; the man's face matched the pictures they'd been given during Operations' briefing. Nikita shot a guard and Toulon took out a pair of armed men in the second building. They found the explosives in a chemist's room, the last room in the second building, and Toulon stayed there to disarm them. Nikita stood watch as Michael went on ahead; she could see Toulon at work quickly clipping wires and testing contacts. A tunnel had been cut through the supporting wall between buildings; there was no way to know how much farther it went.

"How's it going?" Birkoff's voice whispered in her ear.

"All right so far. Michael's gone ahead into the tunnel." She turned her head so he could see Toulon at work.

"Good. Keep an eye on him."

Shots rang out down the hall. "What's going on?" Birkoff asked.

"I can't see anything. No, there goes someone. I'm on him," she said, and darted out of the room and after the slim shape that ran down the hall. It was too dark, too uncertain for her to fire with Michael up ahead somewhere. She ran into a furnace room; hell of a place to fire, with all the ricochets that would result.

"Don't shoot," a small voice said. Renny's face peeked out from behind the furnace. "Nikita?"

She felt terrified; Birkoff would know what was happening, of course, and would have to tell Ops if she went against orders again. She'd have to count on it being dark there, and the mikes not picking up everything. She wrapped her fingers around the microphone and over the camera.

"What are you doing here?" she whispered.

"I live here. You're in my sister's basement."

"Get out or you'll be killed." Renny didn't need a second invitation; he ran back the hallway past her and disappeared into a corridor. More gunshots rang out ahead of her.

"What's going on?" Birkoff asked.

"I don't know. I can't see much but I can hear something up ahead."

She moved through the last building, to where Michael stood over five bodies, three of them women, lying against the wall at the end of the long tunnel. This had obviously been the headquarters; the room was lined with desks, paperwork, wall charts and maps. "I've checked out the rooms upstairs. This is it. Let's get out of here," he said. His face looked frozen; no matter how much he rationalized it, he still felt something when he had to kill a woman that he would not admit to himself or anyone else. Automatic rifles lay beside two of the women; the third clenched blasting caps in a dead fist. She turned away from the corpses, and followed Michael back toward Toulon. A shot echoed through the rooms ahead of them as they headed back.

Toulon emerged from the shadows in the furnace room. "I'm done. Containment can take care of the rest."

As they made their way up the hall toward the van, Nikita saw a small pile of clothing in the center of the room across from the one where Toulon had been working. Blood seeped onto the floor from the clothing, and one slim hand in a blue sleeve twitched, then lay still. She knew enough by now not to ask, but her heart felt sick and her stomach pitched. There'd been no reason to kill that child, no reason connected with the mission. Only revenge. She shot a look at Toulon that he didn't miss.

"Go out the other side," Birkoff said in her ear. "Something's happening; we have to move the van or we'll be blocked in."

"Call Containment," Michael told Birkoff. "There's a lot of materiel down here."

"Got it." In the van, Birkoff spun on his chair and punched in the code that would tell Containment they were ready. Containment would come by dressed as movers, or as trash collectors, and take care of whatever was left behind, whether it be armaments and bombs or bodies.

"She's not saying anything," Walter muttered. "Something's happening in there." He shifted gears and the van rumbled down the alley.

"She doesn't usually say much," Birkoff pointed out.

Walter parked the van by the back of a restaurant, half a block away on the service street. Birkoff sent the new location to the team. Michael acknowledged. Nothing from Nikita. Toulon had not replied since he entered the building. Walter fussed silently. Birkoff stared at the screen and willed her to say something.

Inside the building, Nikita was finding it impossible to say anything at all. Smoke poured from the door to the explosives room, and Toulon had used it as cover to club Michael to the ground just after he replied to Birkoff. Nikita, a few steps behind, stumbled over Michael's body as she pulled on her gas mask, and just managed to dodge the gunstock plunging at her own head. She dodged into the room with Renny's body.

"Nikita?" Birkoff said. "Nikita, please respond." She could hear the pleading in his voice but said nothing, instead reaching for the button tucked inside her belt. As she pulled it out Toulon reached around the doorway and grabbed her arm, jerking her off balance. The button fell from her hand as she grappled with him, and he rounded the corner into the room with her, where there was still a little less smoke than in the hallway.

Toulon wrenched her right wrist in a fierce grip and forced the pistol from her hand -- she felt a bone pop and sudden pain -- then knocked the automatic rifle off her shoulder to the floor. She kicked him in the knee, and he put his hand around her throat, tight, up against the cold stone wall. His arms were longer than hers; she couldn't reach his face to pull off his gas mask. She slid her left hand down toward a knife, and he grabbed that hand too and held it to the wall. The grip on her throat tightened.

He was pushing her up against the wall, her feet barely touching the floor. She pulled up both legs and kicked him as hard as she could in the chest and groin. He grunted, took a half step backward and tripped, and she dived for her rifle. As her bullets reached him, hammering at him through the Kevlar, they were accompanied by more shots from the door that spun Toulon off balance and knocked off his gas mask. He lay bleeding on the far side of the room.

The alarm button was in Renny's hand, with his thumb pressing it. As she watched, his hand relaxed. His eyes opened and focused on her, then closed again as he sighed one last time.

Walter stalked in through the smoke and stood over Toulon. "I called Birkoff to come in and help Michael. Madeleine's gonna want what's left of this piece of trash all to herself."

As Nikita picked up her pistol and set it loosely into its holster, she reached over and took the alarm button back from Renny, closing his hand gently as she did it. She tucked it back into her belt. Walter prodded Toulon with his rifle, and Toulon groaned. Birkoff arrived, half-supporting Michael, and stood in the doorway. The smoke was clearing a bit; through the haze Nikita could see that Michael looked ill and unsteady. He was in no condition to make decisions. It was up to her.

Toulon had a bullet crease on the side of his head -- Walter's shot had cut the strap on the gas mask and creased the stocky man's skull -- and a bullet in his arm; the body armor had kept him from death but had done little to deflect the force of the bullets. He probably had broken ribs, and certainly a through set of bruises. Both gunshot wounds were bleeding messily. Walter had disarmed him and was hauling him to his feet. As he started to push Toulon toward the door, Nikita stopped him.

"Toulon, why did you attack us?"

He shook his head slowly. "Bitch. I don't have to take orders from you."

"Wrong." She turned to Michael. "You told me that if I had a problem with him I was to handle it. I'm going to handle it right now." Her right arm hurt fiercely; she slung the rifle over her shoulder so that it hung on the left, gripped it in her left hand and set the muzzle hard in the center of Toulon's chest. "The armor isn't going to help you at this range. Start talking." "Why should I? You'll kill me anyway."

"You're right." She moved the muzzle an inch or two, right over his heart. "But you can die easy or hard." The muzzle moved down over his groin, under the armor.

Toulon shrugged. "I'm dead anyway. I killed my son."

She moved the muzzle up between his eyes. "What's his name?"

"Rene."

She looked toward the child's body. Beyond it, Michael leaned alone against the doorway. He shook his head slightly: keep going.

"Why did you shoot him?"

"I thought he was Michael or you."

Walter's face tightened. He raised his assault rifle and aimed it at Toulon's head.

"Is that why you were following him today, in town? You thought he was Michael or me?" Nikita's voice grew softer, as she had heard Madeleine's voice soften as the questions grew more dangerous. "I hadn't seen him in three years, not since I was arrested. I just wanted to see him again."

"Is that why you didn't want me to stop you? A family reunion?"

"Yes, that's it."

"How many of your family have you seen tonight?" Her voice grew insistent. "This is where they live, isn't it? This is where you lived, isn't it?"

"No, I've never seen this place before."

"No?" Nikita moved the muzzle up to touch Toulon's throat. "That's interesting, since the building above us is where you killed your niece four years ago. That's why you were in prison, isn't it?"

Toulon stared at her. "You're crazy."

"You're lying," Nikita said, and pulled the trigger. It clicked with an empty sound. Toulon shook, but stayed standing.

"It doesn't matter if you shoot me. You're all going to die anyway." "Not any more," Birkoff said from the doorway. He held a detonator with dangling wires in his hand as if it were a baseball. "If this had gone off we'd all be dead already. He didn't dismantle the bombs, he reconnected them."

"Enough of this." She took a step back and dropped the muzzle. The pain from her wrist pounded up beyond her shoulder. She felt bone weary. "I choose not to dirty my hands on you. Madeleine's going to want to talk to you -- for a very long time." Nikita jerked her head toward the door, and Walter handcuffed Toulon and walked him out. Toulon never looked back at the boy's body on the floor. Birkoff, on his headset, was already telling Operations what had happened. He must have thrown something over the smoke bomb as he dismantled what Toulon had set up; it smoundered quietly in the corner.

After the debriefing, Michael walked beside her down the hallway on the way back to the infirmary; he'd been allowed out only for the debriefing. His head was bandaged, but he'd been calm and coherent as he described the mission to Operations and Madeleine. Madeleine's face had gone to ice as she listened to his report, to Nikita's report, and to the comments from the others. At the end she said, "Thank you all," very quietly and left the room. Everyone knew where she was going.

Michael looked at Nikita, who wore a quiet face. "Are you all right?"

"I'm fine. How's your head?" "Groggy. It's a good thing you called for Walter. And your wrist?"

She relaxed a little, partly at relief that he did not know about Renny's part in the mission. "Toulon popped a bone out of joint, and the medics put it back in. Nothing was broken. I've got some pain pills." She didn't mention Walter strapping her wrist for her in the van while Birkoff held a steady gun on Toulon; Michael had passed out again at that point from the pain in his head. When they reached Section, she had shifted her rifle to the shoulder of her strapped arm so she could steady Michael with her good one. She had no idea how much he may have noticed.

"You handled that better than I expected." He spoke slowly.

She turned to look at him. "How so?"

"You followed up your suspicions with research, you took appropriate action and you didn't let your emotions rule you." He winced slightly as they walked past a bright light. "I mentioned this to Operations. You may find your life a little easier as a result."

"Thank you." She wasn't sure exactly what he meant by "a little easier" but chose to take it as a compliment and nothing more.

"I'm also grateful to you for saving my life," Michael said. It wasn't easy for him to admit he could fail. It was harder still to have her be the one to save him.

"All in a day's work," Nikita said lightly. "You should lie down for a while. I'll walk with you to the infirmary." She took his arm and made sure he was being attended to before she left Section. Walter was still checking in equipment as she passed his office. Birkoff, presumably, was still busy following up on the information acquired during the mission. Madeleine was nowhere to be seen.

It was still not quite dawn over the city. Nikita walked through the streets for an hour, just to enjoy moving in the cool damp air, wandering past old mansions and office buildings, gradually heading toward her apartment. She tried not to notice the bare table in the sidewalk cafe, its chairs tipped upward, or the narrow alley down which she'd seen Renny run only a few hours earlier. She couldn't stop thinking about him, about what his life must have been like. Her own childhood had been hellish; compared to that, her life in Section One was a great improvement.

She had just made herself a pot of tea, closed the curtains for the night, and found a book to read -- she couldn't sleep yet - - when she heard a knock at the door.

Walter, who had never been to her apartment before as far as she knew, stood on the doorstep. In one hand he carried a canvas satchel.

"Special training, so late at night?" she asked, as she let him in.

"Not exactly," he said. He set the backpack on the table. "I thought you might want to cash in one of those personal service slips you won the other night."

"It's possible. What did you have in mind?"

Walter opened the satchel and brought out a bottle of wine, cool to the touch, and a smaller bottle with a sweet scent: almond oil. "There's this full-body massage I lost," he said. "Several other things too, if you like."

Nikita sighed. "It's wonderful of you to think of me, but I'm not sure I'm up for much right now."

Walter nodded. He put an arm around her shoulders. "Neither am I, sugar, but I figured it would be easier to get through if I wasn't alone." He took a look at the brace on her arm and opened the wine, pouring it into the glasses she gave him. "How's that wrist feel?"

She shrugged. "It's not too bad. I should be back to working with you in a week or so, according to the medics. They want me to go easy on it for a few days."

They sat on the couch together, drinking the wine and saying little. Walter rubbed her shoulders, pushed her hair aside and kissed the back of her neck when he finished. She let out a long breath and leaned back against him. "All right, business before pleasure. What did Madeleine find out?"

He took a long sip of wine and put the glass down on the side table. "Toulon was the missing link in The Force. He used the prison underground to get information to the rest of the group, which was mostly his family. They were connected to an underground group in Brussels that Michael's been checking out; we'll probably go after them soon. The woman he killed -- the one he was sent to prison for -- was a Force operative who wanted out; she was also his niece. The whole thing was covered up as a domestic murder at the time; the Force angle never came out at the trial, and our people never picked up on it at the prison."

"Then he was telling the truth about the boy?"

"Yes. That was his kid." Walter turned Nikita to look at him. "He would have done the same to that boy that he did to his niece. And there's no knowing how much the kid was aware of what was happening. He was probably a courier, at least." Walter saw her face. "He didn't have a good life, you and I both know he deserved more. He probably did better this past three years while his father was gone than he did before."

Nikita was silent a long time, thinking of Renny's eyes over the cup of cocoa. Had the boy been afraid of what his father might do to her? Or to himself? Or had he been scouting her for his own reasons? Whatever the truth, Renny had saved her life in the end, simply because she had listened to him and not ignored him as a child. She wished she could have done more for him.

"Ops was impressed with you," Walter said, breaking the silence.

"Was he?" She reached for her glass again and took a sip of the wine. It slid down her throat lightly, not too sweet, with a faint smoky aftertaste.

Walter nodded emphatically. "You'd better believe it. He handed me this bottle of wine to bring you."

It was an excellent vintage. Nikita set her glass on the table. Her blue eyes met Walter's gray ones. "Ops knows, and doesn't object? Are you telling me we're legal?"

"Nothing we do in Section is legal," Walter hedged. "I think he's not going to try to change what we do unless it makes us ineffective on a mission." Walter took her hand in his and played with her fingers. "Whatever happens is up to you, sugar. Truth be told, it's not the first time operatives have slept together, and it won't be the last."

Nikita's eyes grew dark. "What about Michael?"

"I take it the question is academic?" he asked drily. She nodded, not letting him pull away. "Ops has interesting ethics. We're equals, we're all operatives together, so he won't mind us. But Michael brought you in, trained you, and in Ops' mind that makes him your father more than your control. He's a little squeamish about that sort of incest, even though there's no blood tie involved." He let her think about that for a moment, sort out the sense of it. "So? Do you want Michael?" "No. I want someone I can trust," Nikita told him.

Walter's face grew serious. "No promises, sugar. No promises and no lies between us. You know the risks we take. Are you willing to leave it at that?" No keepsakes that could betray them to others. No words of love that could be overheard or misused. Nothing that could change the way they worked together or what might be required of them. No future to plan or hope for, only the gift of the present.

She nodded slowly, her fingers interlaced with his. "Right now, I think it's all I can handle, just going day to day with what we have. And both of you, if you don't mind. Two is easier than one."

Walter's eyes brightened. "I'm glad you said that. I'll call him; he should be on the way now. Ops kept him late." At her surprise, he continued, "He's a little shy; if it were up to him, I don't know if he'd ask you."

Nikita thought about their first time together, and how Birkoff had stacked the cards to make it possible for them to be together but also for her to have a way out if she wanted it. In his quiet way he had already asked her, already offered her whatever she'd desire, and she'd accepted.

A few minutes later she let Birkoff in, and he stood awkwardly for a moment while she shut the door. As soon as it was closed, he wrapped her in a hug that both gave and sought comfort. She put her head on his shoulder and brought him over to the couch.

"I don't like feeling afraid for you," Birkoff whispered. "When I saw who they'd assigned to you, I read his files. I'm glad you called us in."

No lies. Nikita shook her head. "I let Michael think I called you, but I didn't. I dropped the alarm button when Toulon attacked me. The boy called you." Walter nodded, remembering seeing her take his alarm button from the small hand. "Just as well," Birkoff said. "Any longer with no word from you and I was sending Walter in anyway." His voice dropped. "I don't like to lose people." His eyes grew deep with pain. She reached out to rub his shoulders, and he started, then began to relax under her hands.

"You did right, saving the bastard for Maddy," Walter said. "And you saved Michael's life, which should get you brownie points all around. Ops is damned impressed, and we're here with you." He let loose a pirate grin, that devil-may-care invitation she couldn't resist smiling back at. "So, what's your pleasure?"

"When do we have to be back?" she asked.

"What time is it now, seven a.m.? We need to get back for a briefing tomorrow morning at nine." He raised an eyebrow at her. "That should be time to do a few things."

"There's this dinner for two that I won," Birkoff pointed out. "I'd be willing to have it be for three." He glanced at her arm. "I could cook."

"I'm not really hungry now, are you?" she asked.

"Not for food..."

"In that case," Nikita said, "I'd like to start with that body rub..."

At ten the next morning, Nikita sat in Madeleine's office, drinking coffee from one of Madeleine's bone china cups. "I'm pleased with the progress you've made since you returned to us," Madeleine said. "Would you like some more coffee?" She picked up the silver carafe and refilled Nikita's cup and her own.

Nikita sat back on the couch across from Madeleine. "Thank you."

Madeleine gave a small smile. "You handled Toulon well. We appreciate that. How did you feel about it?"

Nikita took a sip of coffee, added more cream and stirred it. It was Hollander cream, thick and so sweet that she didn't reach for the sugarbowl. "I was concerned that he would jeopardize Section by his actions."

"He should never have been cleared as an operative, with his background. Steps are being taken to prevent this happening again," Madeleine said. "And he has been cancelled, of course."

Nikita felt a twinge of sympathy for whoever had done the incomplete background check on Toulon, and a flush of gratitude that she was not the one at fault. Neither Operations nor Madeleine condoned that sort of carelessness, especially when it could endanger all of them. "You were upset about the boy, weren't you?"

"I don't like to see bystanders killed." She met Madeleine's eyes over the coffee cups.

"This bystander was not innocent, from what we've learned. He was almost certainly involved in the bombings." Madeleine observed Nikita's stillness; she knew there was more involved in the situation than Nikita would admit. "It's too bad you weren't able to save him; he would be a little young but we have taken in young operatives before. Still, it's impossible to save every wounded bird."

Nikita realized that Madeleine wasn't just speaking of Birkoff, who had entered Section One when he was only a little older than Renny had been.

"Has it been done often?"

"Yes," Madeleine said. "Young material tends to be more adaptable, and it has generally worked out well." She took another sip of coffee. "In spite of your sympathy for bystanders, you conducted an admirable on-the-spot interrogation. You didn't take revenge, though you would have been within your rights to do so for his attack upon you and Michael."

"Was it a test? I thought you would do a better job," Nikita said.

Madeleine nodded in acknowledgment. "And for exercising such good judgment, you are being rewarded." She pushed the dish of cookies on the table toward her guest. "A while back you said you wanted to have a better life here. Would you say that your life has improved lately?"

Of course, she knows about Walter and Birkoff and me, Nikita thought. She's Madeleine.

"I think it has improved greatly."

"So you are happier with your situation."

"Yes."

Madeleine nodded as if to herself. "That's good. May I give you one word of advice?"

"Always."

"Don't let it make you careless where others are concerned within Section," Madeleine said. "I would not enjoy having to force a change in the situation. Whatever you do, Section must not be adversely affected by your emotions."

"I understand."

"That's good. It would be a pity to have to split up such a promising team."

Nikita shivered. Madeleine's solutions to problems were final, and usually fatal. "Could you be a little more clear?" she asked.

Madeleine set down her cup. "Whatever you learn, whatever you gain, it is not your job to make others feel adequate or inadequate. It's your job to do what Section asks of you. You will find that we require you to do things you don't like, but if you fulfill your tasks we will not inquire into your off-duty activity."

"What about Michael?" she asked.

"What about him?" Madeleine replied. "Michael will have to find his own solutions. Is there a problem?"

"No. No problem."

"That's good," Madeleine said. She took a ginger cookie from the plate and regarded it thoughtfully before taking a bite.

Nikita decided to say what she'd been thinking. "What is it that you're training me for? It feels at times as if you have something in mind for me, something in particular."

Madeleine's eyebrows rose, and her lips curved into a smile. "At the risk of sounding like the U.S. Army, to be all you can be. Whatever position you are given will depend on your skills, and your aspirations. Section One is starting a time of expansion; you may be asked to train new operatives or to work more closely in intelligence or technical training. Or in some other position that would use all your strengths. Anything is possible."

Nikita nodded. She remembered the sensation of waking up that morning curled up warm between Walter and Birkoff, listening to their peaceful breathing, her arm around Birkoff and Walter's arm around her. Perhaps anything might be possible, if she could keep this small breath of freedom she'd found.

**Author's Note:**

> This story was written during the second season of La Femme Nikita (1998-99) and diverges from canon at that point.


End file.
